


Steal the Air

by loudspeakr



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Angst, Infidelity, Internal Conflict, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-08 02:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11072583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudspeakr/pseuds/loudspeakr
Summary: A trip away does little to give Link his reprieve.





	Steal the Air

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Rhink Summer Ficathon 2k17](http://rhinkfications.tumblr.com). 
> 
> This fic was born out of a mish-mash of three things, mainly the prompts _"You gotta cross a few lines to know where it is"_ and _"Yeah, I’ve learned to deal with you"_ , as well as the song [_Don't Take the Money_](https://open.spotify.com/track/3ySU5vwQB33iGulwcUL9qQ) by Bleachers (which is where the title comes from).
> 
> (And a big thank you to [missingparentheses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingparentheses/works) for being a voice of reason when my brain flew out the window. She's a goddamn genius, let me tell you.)

Once or twice a year, they pack up the car and drive. Forego the goodbyes, don’t bother telling Stevie they won’t be coming in, let their wives and kids have a couple of days to themselves. They don’t plan it. Link knows to pack when his phone buzzes at night with a simple _“Tomorrow”_ from Rhett. He knows better than to ask questions nowadays.

The headlights usually pull into the driveway at the crack of dawn, and Link’s always waiting with a backpack of clothes and a duffel bag full of supplies. He tosses them into the back with the tent and the telescope, and then they head north. They make it a habit to hit the same gas stations along the way, plying themselves with all the nostalgia Slim Jims and Pop Tarts have to offer, washing them down with watered-down coffee and energy drinks to keep themselves awake. They follow the coast with all four windows wound down and sing until their throats run raw or the daylight gives out, whichever comes first.

As soon as they park at their usual site, the air between them immediately changes. But Rhett has this thing, this jittery need to get the menial tasks out of the way first. Link leaves him to it, goes to find firewood instead, gets himself a little air before everything else to follow.

Maybe it’s the impulse that comes with this whole venture that appeals to him, the refreshing privacy that inevitably comes with these getaways. But Link’s not stupid. He knows Rhett’s motives are far different to his own. How could he not? It’s a dead giveaway when he sees it in every flinching look-away before he can catch Rhett’s stare. It’s in the restless fingers drumming on the table when they’re in a room full of people, inches away from his own hand, in the heavy silence where there’s usually a dry comment to share.

Very rarely, it all comes to a fever pitch. Last time, Rhett shut the door behind them, only to press Link up against it, lips quick to touch the pulse in his neck. But it didn’t take too long – it never does – before he had the presence of mind to back the hell off again. They talked about it a long time ago. They’re off-limits. This is off-limits. They promised themselves to different hearts and different futures than the ones they thought they couldn’t have. They were nothing if not loyal, to the choices they would make, to the lives they would forge, each as his own man.

But Rhett began to break more and more often, racking up too many close calls for Link to call comfortable. Space only pulled them together where it should have kept them apart. They decided on a plan of action. An exception to the rule.

So when he gets the text from Rhett, Link’s heart starts pounding at the thought of the days to come. Truth be told, he thinks about it all year, in the long dragging months that fill the space between trips up north. To be specific, it’s this – what Rhett does as soon as Link returns to camp – that preoccupies his mind ninety percent of his time spent alone. It makes his insides twist with anticipation and shame.

“What took you so long?”

The tent’s already up, and Link’s got no choice but to drop the wood he’s collected. He lets it fall to his feet just as Rhett’s colliding with him, long legs taking him from there to here in three seconds flat. Link’s expecting it, but that doesn’t mean he’s prepared to be grabbed by his shirt, fistfuls dragging him up onto his toes to meet his mouth with Rhett’s. The man’s impatient, and Link’s comfort isn’t taken into account when he’s like this. It’s give or be taken.

Except when he does get like this, Link responds accordingly. He pushes Rhett away before they can make any real contact, gathering the wood back up with his dignity still intact, at least for the moment.

“You wanna get cold? You want us to freeze to death out here?”

It’s a last-ditch attempt at holding onto his morality, an act of protest for self-preservation, one that Rhett allows. He growls in response but lets Link make them a fire, lets Link shake the nerves out of his system while he sits nearby, obedient out of necessity. It’s a far cry to when they were younger: their getaways back then were to get them some space, from everything else as well as each other. They’d halve the camp and stake their claims, swearing not to cross the divide unless they absolutely had to.

Now they crowd each other’s space, the other’s face as familiar as the reflection in the mirror. It makes Link laugh, a sarcastic whip of a laugh, thinking about just how different things are now. That’s when he catches the soft eyes looking his way, glinting dangerously in the fresh firelight.

“Can you –” he hears Rhett stammer. The shyness there is new, demanding his attention. Link clambers to his feet, mouth dry. “Please just come here.”

The gruff timidness draws him in, relenting to the hunger he’s found in Rhett’s gaze. He lets the man plant his palms on his waist, thumbs kneading into the sharp curve of his hipbones, keeping him from moving away again.

“You don’t want this to happen, do you?”

Link swallows. The correct response is to disagree, to touch his fingers to Rhett’s forehead, tell him he’s being paranoid, pull him up and kiss him silly, kiss him for all that a year is worth.

Instead he says, “I don’t know.”

It’s the truth after all. There’s no point sidestepping it; they don’t lie to each other. He doesn’t _know_ that he wants this, there’s just too much wrong about it, and they decided – they decided _together_ – that this wasn’t a good idea.

But this trip is all about breaking the rules, so despite himself, he brings Rhett’s fingers up to the first of the buttons on his shirt. They pick at each one, deliberately slow, as if to make Link drown in the moment just a little more than he should.

“Maybe you just need to be convinced.”

Maybe he does. Maybe it’ll take the heat of Rhett’s lips on his abdomen, the touch of his hands on the backs of his thighs for him to relax into this. At least that’s what he tries to tell himself when his fly is being tugged open and eager fingers delve into the waistband of his briefs.

“Maybe you don’t know what you need,” he hears Rhett murmur, warm breath greeting him once he’s exposed to the falling night air. His own body is betraying him, he realises with a shiver, and Rhett leans down to kiss him.

“Please, could you just –” His hands tremble as they flit over the planes of Rhett’s shoulders, Link notes with a touch of embarrassment. But he’s answered regardless with a quiet chuckle before it’s promptly muffled against skin.

This – just this – feels like a relief, and when Rhett slips his tongue along the underside of Link’s shaft, the warning bells sounding in his head fade out a fraction.

“Come on, Link. Just enjoy it.”

Enjoy it? He’s not sure he remembers how to do that.

Honestly, if he digs deep, he can admit there’s a thrill in the duplicity of it when they’re back home, back at work. When Rhett pins him against the door of their office, his adrenaline spikes just thinking about their employees milling about behind it, none the wiser about the kind of shit their bosses get into. It’s even better when they’re at one of their houses – the best when it’s his own home, and Rhett can’t fucking help himself – one of their gorgeous, ever-patient, unsuspecting wives just around the corner.

How could he enjoy something like that? He’s sick, _this_ is sick. But god, he grips onto Rhett’s hair anyway, even tighter when he feels the man’s lips slip further down towards the base of his manhood. He wrenches Rhett off him then and watches him lose balance in the dirt, topple from kneeling down on his haunches. He already feels like a jerk – what’s a little more?

But Rhett bounces right back, undeterred. He gets back onto his knees and reaches for the picnic rug because he knows Link will refuse to go into the tent. They’ll have to do this out here, out in the open. It’s just as well. The trees, the stars might as well look down on them, too.

“Come sit, bo,” Rhett says gently, and he pats the space next to him once the wrinkles have been smoothed out as best as they can be. Link huffs and pulls his pants off the rest of the way, doing what he’s told. He can’t deny Rhett looks incredible in this light, the flames flicking up into the air casting an ethereal golden hue across his partner’s features. A shiver shoots down his spine. “Are you cold?”

He’s anything but. He’s hot with guilt and arousal and a self-loathing he’s sure Rhett can read all over him.

“Stop it,” Link says, closing his eyes. “Let’s just, let’s do this.”

“Why are you so hellbent on ruining this?”

“Is that what I’m doing?” He feels fingertips touch his forearm, a light kiss on his shoulder. A sigh.

“I guess it was never gonna be easy,” Rhett whispers. “Not with you.”

“Then why me?”

“‘Cause it ain’t worth it if it’s not you.”

If this is Rhett’s strategy to get in good with him, it’s working. He feels a rough palm slide along his jawline, cupping securely around the nape of his neck. The tears are building, threatening to spill, when Rhett finally moves in. He threw Link for a loop, the first time they kissed. Rhett was rough and soft all at the same time, the scratch of his beard, the smooth give to his lips. There was never a chance to get used to them – which is a good thing, Link reminds himself – but now that they’re moving against his, he can’t recall why on Earth he would choose to deprive himself. But there’s something else at play here, too. Rhett’s being sweet and slow and a lot less insistent than usual, and it strikes Link then that he’s being asked for permission.

What would this be like, he wonders idly, if they’d only gone down a different path all those years ago? Would he dive in deep, reciprocate with as much ferocity as Rhett is willing to give? Would he move differently under Rhett’s touch, or react just the same?  Would it feel anything like it should – like peace, like home, maybe even love? Would his heart then race with something a little less toxic?

“Take your pants off,” he chokes out, forcing the train of thought from his mind. But there’s a lack of movement to his side.

“Not tonight.”

Link’s eyes are still shut tight when he feels Rhett place a single kiss in the corner of his mouth, feels the hand not cradling his head trail across his abdomen as warning. It wanders, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, until it settles between Link’s legs, taking hold.

“Relax. You’re safe. You’re safe here,” Rhett coos in his ear. In the deluge of sensation hitting him on all fronts, it’s the proximity of the body next to his that is his foremost focus. It refuses to smother, an easy line to overstep. Instead there’s comfort to be found in its presence, a sheltering cocoon. “You’ll always be safe with me, darlin’.”

And when he feels Rhett’s cheek press against his forehead, it occurs to him that perhaps he’s mistaken. Rhett brings him here to make him forget, and forget he does. But it isn’t their transgressions back in Los Angeles that he’s being distracted from. It’s this: the stress he brings with him on the drive up, now melting away under the watch of their campfire, an entire sky bearing witness to the feat. It’s the world they leave behind for the few days they stay here, a world that had passed its judgement long before they could find their feet.

When they’re here, Link forgets. Because, here, none of it matters. It wouldn’t surprise him if this was Rhett’s thinking all along.

The fist between his legs quickens its pace, and Link’s breath hitches. He barely flinches when teeth bite into his shoulder, the jabbing pain quickly lost between words of encouragement, of painstaking devotion he would deem unacceptable any other time.

“How close are you, bo?”

He isn’t, he’s nowhere near here, he’s someplace else completely. This is what Rhett does to him. Rhett takes him away when his place – their place – should be here. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s okay for a night.

Link doesn’t see the end until he’s already spilling over Rhett’s hand. He doesn’t remember making much noise, but his voice feels hoarse when Rhett asks him if he wants some water. He’s given some, his own bottle to sip from, while Rhett keeps a close hold on him, kept cradled in his arms. Eventually Link manages to open his eyes, and though exhaustion brings blind spots to his vision, he can see well enough to find night has well and truly fallen.

His eyes find Rhett next, golden and radiant. He doesn’t miss the sunset.

They leave the music off when they drive back towards home two days later. Link sleeps in the passenger seat, and Rhett doesn’t wake him until they’re pulling into his driveway. They end the trip without another word, a silent agreement to meet again at the office the next day as if nothing happened.

Barely a month passes when Link is looking down at his phone, this time at a blank field to be filled. His fingers are quick to outrun his fickle mind.

_“Tomorrow?”_

He’s already pulling clothes from hangers when his phone flashes again.


End file.
